‘With me,’ Fallon ordered.
The unit took a position on the crest of a rocky hillock, lined with tufts of pale grass. Dim lights shone ahead—a compound. Fearsome watchtowers crowned with gun nests glowered out, linked by a thick concrete perimeter wall adorned with barbed wire. A heavy metal siege gate stood in brawny challenge.
‘Daroh’s first report said there was an airship that patrolled without lights,’ growled Fallon. His voice sounded strange out here—the absence of background noise made the place seem tranquil.
‘Most likely been ordered into the city,’ said Sturrock.
The major nodded. ‘Good news for us.’
‘What are you thinking?’ Gallows asked.
‘We go in. From what Daroh told me, this place is heavily guarded. We’d have been bombarded long before getting this far if it were any other day.’
‘Alright. You reckon this Kyatis guy Daroh was with was working for the government?’
‘I do—and I reckon Daroh got discovered. Or maybe whoever’s behind Thackeray’s killing just tied up loose ends and Daroh was in the way. Since Kyatis is too dead to question, it’s up to us to find out. But if there’s a chance he’s alive, we get him out.’
‘Five of us,’ said Lance Corporal Valentine. ‘We could split up, take alternate routes, infiltrate in groups…’
‘Negative. If these bastards are as bad as I reckon they are, they’ll shoot intruders on sight. We go in together, tell ’em we’ve been dispatched to provide extra security after the attack. That’ll at least buy time before the bullets come.’
A stoneroach scuttled across the ground. ‘You reckon they’ll buy that?’ Gallows asked.
‘More’n likely not but we don’t have a choice. Sturrock, wait here with the Bulldog. The rest of us go in, see what we can find. We’ll light a flare if we’re in trouble. That happens, charge the gates and save our asses.’
A rusted metal door was set into the siege gate.
Gallows didn’t know what he expected; an emissary coming through the gates to greet them, guards patrolling the grounds, maybe a searchlight spearing the darkness? The place was as empty as the desert.
‘Reckon they’ll let us in if we knock?’ asked Valentine.
Fallon nodded. ‘Try.’
She booted the door open. Not even locked?
Rickety water tanks, a shower block, store rooms and portable cells dotted the grounds beyond the gate. Glorified shoeboxes had been erected with weak materials to act as an admin base, like the prefab houses the Council built after the war. A crane loomed by the porta-cells; they were the kind of detachable lockups found in warships and some aircraft for quick prisoner transport. ‘Doesn’t look like a secret research facility,’ said Gallows.
‘Of course, they’d advertise it as such,’ replied Rend.
They pressed forward, staying close to the decaying walls. The ignium lamps suspended from wires had run dry; the gaps between huts were steeped in shadows.
No guards, no personnel, no signs of life.
Gravel crunched beneath Gallows’ boots before treading on something flat and solid; a signpost, buried in the sand. He fetched it and swept the dirt away. ‘INT-137’ was scrawled upon it in flaking paint.
Internment camp 137. ‘Guess it is a prison after all,’ said Gallows. ‘Why would they have a prison all the way out here?’
‘Makes a kind of sense,’ Valentine began. ‘Where would they escape to out here?’
She had a point, but other field internment camps kept their hanging posts on open display as a reminder of the penalty for desertion. But hey, why bother with hanging? Send ’em for a long walk into the desert, job done.
Beyond, Fallon examined a finding of his own—a map encased in glass, attached to the exterior of a hut. ‘According to this, the command centre is that hexagonal building up ahead. Behind that, there’s a bomb shelter—could be we need to look underground.’
‘Still don’t explain why there ain’t so much as a skeleton crew,’ observed Valentine. ‘Even if they was dispatched to the city, you’d gamble someone’d be stationed here.’
‘We do a sweep to make sure we’re alone, then onto the HQ. Valentine, with me. Rend, Gallows, take the east side of the grounds, we’ll take the west. You got your flashlight?’
Rend nodded and tapped the battery-operated flashlight on his chest. They were brighter than ignium lamps but needed constant recharging.
‘Good. RV in twenty outside the command station. Go.’
Rend powered ahead with Gallows trailing behind. Silence loomed over the whole place and cold air bit at Gallows’ skin. In the distance, the giant, pointed ignicite formations of the Obsidian Sandlands spiked up from the darkness. Their faint amber glint limned the surface.
The rest of the facility was just as empty. The tables in the mess hall didn’t have so much as a coffee cup, the storerooms were picked clean, the cells vacant. Dead flies lay on workbenches and desks, accompanied by the pervading stench of stale air. Dust covered every surface like a funeral veil. Gallows and Rend examined every room, office and filing cabinet and turned nothing up.
‘Let’s see what the others have uncovered,’ said Rend.
‘A fat load of nothin’,’ Valentine said when they’d reconvened at the north side of the camp. Behind them squatted the command building. Its off-white colour and hexagonal form contrasted with the rest of the place. ‘Found the entrance to the bomb shelter but it was locked up. Anything turn up at your end?’
‘Negative,’ replied Rend.
Gallows eyed Major Fallon. ‘You sure about these co-ordinates?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Guess the command post is our next port of call,’ said Gallows, kicking the wall.
‘Correct. Valentine, get Sturrock and tell him it’s safe to bring the Bulldog in-’
A gunshot tore through the night. The bullet chipped into the wall.
‘Incoming!’ yelled Fallon.
The squad fell back, using the HQ wall as cover.
‘Where the hell did that come from?’ Fallon asked.
‘North-west, best I can tell,’ answered Valentine. ‘We swept the whole area—where in hells did he come from?’
‘Bomb shelter, has to be!’ called Rend.
Another shot rang out. ‘Rifle,’ growled Fallon.
‘Terrific,’ started Gallows, ‘one panicked kid with an air rifle and he’s got the four of us cowering like hens.’
Fallon pointed to Gallows and Rend. ‘You two, go around the east side and flank the bastard. I’ll draw his fire. Don’t kill him—we need answers. Valentine, get Sturrock—if the shooter’s got mates, I want to show ’em who’s got the biggest ballsack.’
Several more rounds burst into the night. Panic fire.
Gallows and Rend edged around the HQ, weapons poised. The Lieutenant balled his fist and hoisted it into the air, the signal to halt. His index finger told Gallows that there was only one shooter.
‘He keeps checking his six,’ said Rend.
‘Can you tell what he’s carrying?’
‘An old repeater.’
The muzzle of the shooter’s rifle exploded into life and cut off.
‘He’s reloading. Go! Go!’
The pair sprinted towards the shooter, the mouth of the bomb shelter gaping behind him. ‘Damn, damn,’ Gallows heard him mutter.
As their assailant fumbled on one knee with his weapon, Rend kicked the rifle from his grasp and hooked a fist into his jaw. He toppled.
‘Don’t, don’t kill me!’
Middle aged, salt and pepper hair, creased skin, bulging eyes. Tattered and ill-fitting military armour encased him, but it didn’t seem to be doing much good.
Rend aimed his rifle down. ‘Identify yourself!’
The man’s mouth opened and closed. ‘I…’
Rend thrust the gun closer. ‘Speak.’
‘Don’t be a dick,’ said Gallows, easing Rend’s firearm away. ‘It’s okay,’
he told the mystery man. ‘We’re not gonna shoot you.’
‘What about… the others?’
‘Huh?’
Fallon and Valentine drew up at the other side of the shooter, weapons trained on his head.
‘He injured?’ the major asked.
Gallows shook his head.
The shooter got to his feet. ‘You’re… not with them, are you?’
Fallon grabbed him by his neck. ‘With who?’
‘They… They came out of nowhere! I’m the only one left. The troops are killing them!’
‘Son, you don’t start making sense soon, I’m gonna kneecap you. What troops?’
‘It’s-it’s a death squad. They came from our patrol craft… They’ve killed the other doctors. Zarabati, tal Nivala… Gods, Mathieson, he…’
‘You’re a doctor?’ Gallows asked.
‘I… A scientist, yes.’
‘Who killed them?’ Spittle flew from Fallon’s mouth as he barked his questions. ‘What did they look like?’
‘Soldiers! They carried guns and swords… Oh Gods, the fire…’
Fallon yanked him closer. ‘Did they speak? Are they Dalthean?’
The man nodded. ‘Damned traitors. Please, you’ve got to get me out of here. Please.’
Fallon didn’t relinquish his grip. ‘You said they came from a patrol craft?’
The doctor’s long fingers scrabbled at Fallon. ‘A, a supply blimp. They must have commandeered it… There’s a hidden entrance in the mountains… How did they know?’
Gallows appraised the doctor. ‘What’s down there? Prisoners? Have you been experimenting on inmates? How about animals? Were you responsible for the thing at Hessian’s?’
Panic flashed in the stranger’s eyes. ‘I’m oath-bound to secrecy. However, if you can guarantee my safety, I-’
‘You talk and we listen—that’s the deal, asshole.’ Gallows found his hands shaking and his skin burning. He wanted to force this guy to look at Regina’s face.
‘I am sworn to secrecy and I will not talk,’ he said in a small voice, avoiding direct eye contact. ‘The Prime Councillor himself-’
‘Is dead,’ said Fallon.
His mouth hung loose. ‘Sweet Musa…’
‘Your name!’ Fallon demanded.
‘I… I am Doctor Basud tal Petrokolou. I, I can’t say any more. Please, we must leave.’
‘Alright.’ Fallon glared at the pitiful scientist squirming in his grasp. ‘It’s your lucky day, Doc. We ain’t equipped to take on anything bigger than a mutt. You’re comin’ with us.’
‘Thank Aerulus,’ the man whimpered.
‘A man of science and the Fayth, eh?’ Fallon rolled his eye. ‘You damn well better be worth the trouble.’
‘Down!’ Valentine yelled. She twisted to the ground as a bullet grazed her shoulder.
‘No, no!’ Basud cried. ‘The Wraiths! Help me!’
Three men in slick black armour and black masks broke out from the bomb shelter, separating from the shadows.
‘They’re coming from the bomb shelter!’ roared Fallon. He returned fire while Gallows helped Valentine to her feet. ‘Fall back!’
‘Must have followed the doctor,’ said Rend.
‘Thanks for leading ’em to us, sugar!’ Valentine snapped, with a look more fearsome than her rifle.
As one, they moved back towards the relative safety of command centre, bullets zinging past them.
‘Who the hell are they?’ Gallows shouted. Smooth, black masks concealed their eyes behind metallic lenses, and as far as Gallows could see, there was no gap or ventilation where their mouths were. Like their masks, the armour they wore was matte black: Flexible greaves ran up their legs, pauldrons protected their shoulders and armoured plating flexed on their chests. They were like shadows given form.
‘Don’t matter!’ snapped Fallon. ‘Just shoot ’em.’
‘But, sir,’ Rend began, ‘aren’t they our countrymen? We’re the intruders here.’
‘You wanna tell ’em we’re on the same side, Lieutenant, be my guest.’
Rend’s face furrowed. ‘This is wrong.’
‘They’re coming!’ Gallows said. ‘We can’t stay.’
‘You can’t beat them,’ Basud whimpered, ‘you can’t beat them.’
‘Quiet!’ Fallon growled. ‘Can you get us inside the HQ?’
Basud shook his head. ‘No. This place is just a cover for the installation below.’
‘Get back!’ A small device landed near Valentine—she kicked it towards the hut to her left. An excruciating, blinding flash exploded, accompanied by a resounding bang.
But worse was what it left in its wake.
Flames engulfed the barracks, livid orange and fierce. Blazing liquid spread out from the explosion’s epicentre.
Igneus.
‘Anyone hurt?’ Valentine’s voice.
‘Fall back!’ commanded Fallon.
Rend cracked the flare, sending a bright column of green smoke fizzing into the sky.
‘You can’t beat them!’ the doctor repeated. He cowered behind Fallon, his whole body jerky and trembling.
Gallows turned the corner and opened fire, buying some time. It was near-impossible to see the Wraiths, as Basud called them—for that’s what they were, deathly phantoms resolving from the night.
Gallows thundered across the ground to his comrades as another explosion set the world on fire. Igneus showered his light body armour. Tendrils of smoke spiralled into the air. ‘Shit!’ His whole body tightened. The burning hiss it made coiled around his head.
His fingers scrambled to peel the armour away and cast it aside, leaving it fizzling on the ground.
Too close.
‘We ain’t gonna be lucky forever!’ yelled Valentine.
She was right. They had to escape. If those soldiers caught up to them, their corpses would be left out here to rot.
Bullets cut through the air, zinging past their heads.
Valentine spun and took a shot, but it went wide. ‘Can’t see the bastards!’
An explosion bellowed, toppling the crane.
‘Watch out!’ warned Gallows.
It crashed into the toilet block, unleashing a sandstorm of rubble and dirt.
‘Move move move!’ called Fallon, flinging Basud ahead of him.
Gallows’ feet pounded the ground. The facility gatehouse beckoned them a dozen yards ahead. Almost there, almost there…
A plunging pierce swooped through the sky, blazing like a shooting star. It sparkled with terrible beauty, searing bright light and dispersing like a wave of blazing arrows.
‘Spread out!’ someone yelled.
Gallows’ blood rushed through his veins.
The fire scoured the earth.
The ground quaked from the impact and the gate ahead melted in an instant. Metal burned brighter than the sun, steel twisting and crying. Bright fire waded upwards in a wave.
Igneus mortars! Gallows ran and found cover by a prefab assembly, for all the good it would do. Freezing sweat poured from him.
He chanced a glance from his hiding spot: Thick black smoke rose from the surroundings, painted red by the igneus fire. No way we can get past!
‘Valentine, did you pack the demo charges?’ Fallon’s voice, somewhere far off.
Gunfire interrupted.
Gallows tried to pinpoint the sound but it was impossible. He readied his weapon. Smoke made it difficult to pick targets. He hugged the wall, straining to hear above the steady thump of rifle fire.
He inched from his spot, the fire raging at his back. Where the hell was the Bulldog?
He stole a glance around the corner…
There. Two Wraiths, keeping back from the grid of structures so they wouldn’t get caught in an enclosed space among the smoke.
One of them halted.
It was an opportunity Gallows couldn’t miss.
He had the Wraith in his sights and squeezed the trigger.
The Vindicator shudd
ered in his hands.
He hit him in the neck. Blood fountained and he hissed and spat gibberish.
But his companion spotted Gallows with lightning reflexes.
Gallows pulled the trigger again.
Click.
Click
His rifle jammed.
He froze.
The Wraith raised his weapon.
Gallows willed himself to move but couldn’t.
The Wraith sighted him and-
The deafening roar of the gunshot sounded out, and Gallows braced for the pain.
But it didn’t come.
It wasn’t a gunshot.
The Bulldog flew through the fire and bulldozed the weak structure by the Wraith, mowing him down. Blackened blood, muscle and bone sprayed over its hood.
‘Belios,’ breathed Gallows. The tension in his bones evaporated, and his legs turned soft as cotton.
Flames blazed on the Bulldog—weaponised igneus gel stuck to everything—but the armour held. The passenger door swung out. ‘You okay?’ yelled Sturrock.
Gallows dragged a breath. His nails dug into his palms. ‘I’m fine.’ He stuffed himself into the passenger side and crawled through to the rear. He climbed up the rungs to the roof-mounted, ignium-fuelled cannon. ‘There’s at least one more of ’em, they have igneus weapons! We’ll take him out then RV with Fallon and the rest!’
The Bulldog revved and tore through the compound.
Gallows spotted the fleeing Wraith darting towards the bomb shelter entrance. He turned the cannon, and engaged the controls.
The weapon snarled, spitting a hail of bullets, blowing the soldier’s leg clean off.
Gallows relaxed the trigger—they could question him before he bled out, maybe even save his ass.
But the Wraith had other ideas. He conjured a pistol and pointed it at his head.
Before he pulled the trigger, he activated an igneus bomb and hurled it at the Bulldog.
‘Sturrock, move!’
Gallows leaped from the roof and sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him.
The Bulldog exploded behind him, the shockwave blowing Gallows to the ground like a ragdoll.
‘Sturrock!’ He spat dirt. ‘Sturrock! Answer me!’
‘I’m alive! Gods damn.’
The burning husk of the Bulldog sat between them.
Symphony of the Wind Page 29
